


Shell-shocked

by Huntress79



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Je Suis Paris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter, El and Mozzie worry about Neal after learning about the tragic events in Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shell-shocked

**Author's Note:**

> My way of trying to comprehend the attacks in Paris last night. My heart and thoughts are with the people in Paris, with the victims and their families. And I hope and pray that those responsible for these cowardly attacks are getting what they deserve – by any means of justice. Please remember that this is just a piece of fanfiction, and that I mean no disrespect to those who suffered so dearly last night. Unbetaed, and probably with more mistakes in there than usual, since I typed it up last night, when my mind was racing a mile a minute, so if you spot any, please let me know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_New York_

For the first time since their son Neal had been born, Peter and El had an evening for themselves. Diana was in town, and she and Mozzie had agreed to keep Neal overnight, since they wanted to take both boys to an open-air event in a park the next day.

So they were quite surprised when they came home and found Mozzie sitting on their steps. Elizabeth, always the one to better connect with the short guy, sat down next to him, immediately concerned.

“Hey, Mozzie, you okay?”

“No,” he sniffed, causing Peter and El exchange a worried look. “Not at all.”

Hearing the sniff, as well as the dejected edge to Mozzie’s voice, had Peter worried and concerned too. What the heck had happened?

“Mozzie, is our son okay?” Peter finally asked, opting for the phrase ʻour sonʼ than for the name.

“Oh.” Mozzie looked up, and right then Peter saw tears and shock in his friend’s eyes. “Yeah, he’s okay. Last thing I know is that Baby Suit is safe in Morpheus’ arms, so to speak.”

Both Peter and El released a breath. Knowing that your kid was okay was always a positive thing for young parents.

Before Peter could ask any more questions, El got up, pulled Mozzie to his feet and ushered him inside. Peter couldn’t do anything but follow, but as he was about to try and ask Mozzie more, he was stopped once again, this time by the ringing of his mobile phone.

“Burke,” he said into the speaker, not even glancing at the display.

“Peter,” Jones replied. “Turn on the TV. Any channel.” Like Mozzie, Jones had a sad, somber edge to his voice. Doing as he was told, Peter went over to the TV and turned it on – only to have his world crashing to a stop.

“Hon…” was all he got out, as his eyes were already glued to the TV.

With unbelieving eyes, Peter and El watched the news reports. According to them, terrorists had launched a string of attacks on Paris, killing dozens of innocents and wounding even more. The whole city was in a frenzy, nobody knew any details, but chaos, desperation were already taking over.

After what seemed an eternity, they both sat down at the dinner table, their minds busy trying to catch up with what they just had seen on screen – and what these recent events meant for their own life. They just had found out, after almost a year, that Neal Caffrey was alive, and that he was currently living in Paris. Was fate that cruel to dangle him in front of them, only to snatch him away from them?

“Mozzie, have you…?" El began, her voice quivering towards the end.

“No.” He came over from his seat on the couch and joined them at the table. “I keep telling myself that he’s okay, and that we needn’t to worry, but not being able to reach him…” Mozzie sniffled again. “I can’t lose him, El, not again.” Peter and Elizabeth just nodded. “I just can’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Paris_

The first thing Neal noticed upon entering his small apartment was silence. Utter silence. And while he would have welcomed it at any other day, today he couldn’t stand it. His mind all but screamed for a distraction, otherwise he might as well go crazy.

Just a few hours before, Neal was on his way home from work. On a whim, he decided to stop at a small café near La Place de la République, one he had been before over the last eleven months. Just as he finished his order of a small dinner and a drink, all hell broke loose right outside on the sidewalk.

Within a heartbeat, the easy-going mood everyone in the café had turned into madness, and the unmistakable sounds of people having a good time were replaced by gunshots, shattering glass and screams.

What probably saved Neal’s life in hindsight was the fact that he was standing behind a solid-built pillar when the assailants began to shoot. Of course, he ducked down immediately, pulling two other customers with him.

The gunshots kept ringing out for quite some time, but finally, they stopped. After a few more seconds, Neal, along with some others, dared to step outside the café – in hindsight not the best idea.

What had been a sidewalk with crowds of people starting their weekend mere five minutes ago, now resembled more a battlefield than anything else. Some of the people lying on the ground were already dead, their eyes still open, unseeing, and Neal couldn’t help but think back to the moment eleven months ago, when Peter probably saw the same when he looked at him lying in the morgue. With a shudder, Neal made his way to the center of destruction, passing some more bodies, as well as badly wounded guests and shocked ones. Despite his own state of shock, Neal offered his help where he could, ʻsacrificingʼ not only his tie, but also his belt and both his shoelaces to save people.

At some point, Police officers and paramedics arrived at the scene, talking about more attacks throughout Paris that night. Hearing that, Neal decided to stay and help them helping the wounded. Sooner than later, they were down to the casualties, everyone else was either standing at the side, trying to wrap their minds around what just had happened, or on their way to the nearest hospital. One of the paramedics, a young man that reminded Neal of Scott, urged Neal to get checked out as well, but he refused. Sure, he was shocked, and in any other case, he might have been taken up the offer, but not tonight. The doctors in every hospital in the city already had one hell of a night ahead of them, fighting for so many lives simultaneously (and probably losing more fights than winning them). The last thing they needed in a night like this were people like him, who ʻjustʼ were shocked, but unharmed.

Since he was rather close to his apartment, Neal finally decided to walk home. Sure, it still was dangerous to be outside, but he had heard one of the Police officers saying that several Metro lines were stopped, as well as most of the taxi lines. All of a sudden, the first coroner arriving on the scene held out something to Neal. At a second glance, it turned out to be a pair of shoelaces, which Neal took without asking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now, he was home, in an apartment that was way too silent for his racing, screaming mind.

Pulling himself away from the door, Neal shed his clothes on the way to the bathroom. While doing so, he noticed for the first time that both his shirt and his trousers were also “victims” of the attack, as they were drenched in blood. He made sure to put them in a bag and would either burn or simply deposit them first thing in the morning.

Once in the bathroom, Neal just wanted to take a quick shower, mostly to get rid of the stench of blood and death that still clung to him. But the minute he was under the spray, his emotions got the better of him. And so he spent quite some time sitting on the tiles, crying, both for the many, many victims of that night, but also for the fact that somehow, he got lucky again and survived.

At long last, Neal got out of the shower (mostly because the water ran cold) and made a beeline for his liquor cabinet. On any other day, he would have agreed with everyone that drinking alcohol was no miracle cure at all, or would help him coming to terms with the events of that night, but somehow, he couldn’t care less tonight.

Filling both tumblers with the golden liquid called Whisky, Neal went over to the couch. In passing, he saw his mobile phone, the one only a few selected people had the number of. People like June. Like Mozzie. Like Peter and Elizabeth.

Drinking the contents of the first tumbler down in one, Neal grabbed the phone, scrolling through the short list of contacts while sitting. Right then, he noticed that he only had one service bar on the display – apparently the French phone net was close to be overloaded.

Somehow, exhaustion got the better of him, and Neal fell asleep. Several hours later, he woke up, seeing the first rays of sunshine streaming through the windows. For a second or two, he wondered why he was sleeping on the couch, dressed in nothing more than his bathrobe, before his mind caught up and provided him with the images of the previous night.

Sitting up with a shudder, Neal’s eyes fell on the flashing display of his mobile, signaling him that he had several new messages in his voicemail. Ignoring them (he had a hunch who had left them there), Neal scrolled down to the only number he needed to dial right now. Only a heartbeat later, a voice came on.

“Neal!”

“Yeah, Peter, it’s me.”

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Peter exclaimed, and Neal didn’t need a lot of imagination to see the other man’s face lighting up upon hearing his voice. “Wait a moment, I get El and put you on speaker, okay?”

“Okay,” Neal replied while heading into his kitchen, intent on starting some coffee.

At first, Neal only could hear some sounds coming from the other end of the line, but pretty soon, the unmistakable voices of Elizabeth and Mozzie could be heard, curious as to who Peter was talking to.

“Why don’t you listen for yourself?” Peter suggested, signaling Neal to speak up now.

“Hey Elizabeth, hey Mozzie! You have no idea how good it is to hear your voices.”

For some seconds, Neal only heard a variety of sniffles, before El recovered first and spoke up.

“Neal George Caffrey! Or whatever name you go by now! Don’t do this to us ever again, you hear me? Otherwise…” she left the threat open, though there was no real fire in her voice to start with. It was just her way of coming to terms with the situation.

“Yes, ma’am, I heard you. Crystal clear,” Neal replied, with just the right amount of humor to his voice. Though she couldn’t see him, Neal was tempted to give her a salute, especially since his mind was providing him with the image of El standing in front of him, both her hands jammed into her hips.

“How are you doing?” Mozzie inquired, just as Peter asked: “Were you affected in any way?”

Neal took a deep breath, steadying his emotions, before answering.

“Yeah, Moz, I’m fine. As fine as one can be today.” He paused. “And yeah, Peter, I was affected.”

“How?” All three of them asked at once.

“I was in one of the cafés near La Place de la République when they attacked it.”

“Oh my God,” Elizabeth uttered, barely audible, and Neal felt her covering her mouth with a hand.

“Yeah, but compared to the chaos, the destruction that I witnessed there I’m just glad that I’m alive.”

“Are you really okay, Neal?” Mozzie asked, and Neal heard the underlying multitude of emotions in the other man’s voice.

“Yeah, at least physically.” He heard them all releasing a breath. “But to be honest, my mind is another story.”

“Absolutely understandable, sweetie,” Elizabeth said, just before Peter took over.

“Neal, as soon as possible, come home to New York. Please.”

Several years ago, before they became a team and friends, Neal would have given God knows what to hear Peter uttering the last word. But now, in the light of the events of the last year, it didn’t matter to him. And if it was just up to him, Neal would be already at the airport. But the attacks had led to some precautionary measures by the government, one of them resulting in pretty much closing off France from the rest of the world.

“I will, Peter, but that might take time.” He heard Peter taking a breath, ready to fire a question at him, so Neal continued quickly while watching the news on the small TV he had in his kitchen. “As a result of the attacks, the president has declared a state of emergency on all of France, which also means an order to more or less close all borders.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I will see which means of transportation are available now, but as I said, it might take some time to get out of France somehow.”

“Okay,” Peter replied, “just keep us updated, okay? We already lost you once, and we all need you here now.”

“Of course I do.” Once again, Neal took a breath before continuing, voicing the idea that he had on his mind for several days now for the first time. “And I might come back to New York permanently in the near future.”


End file.
